


not a typical trip to Brighton

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2016 [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beaches, Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Ocean, Pre-Slash or Slash, Sherlock Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock go to Brighton. For a case, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a typical trip to Brighton

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day twenty of JWP. Today's prompt was: "There is a tide in the affairs of men" - Shakespeare: Julius Caesar.
> 
> If this seems a bit choppy, my apologies. I'm very tired and may be coming down with a summer cold.

Gulls caw as Sherlock and John follow the sergeant down the narrow path to the beach. The sandy expanse is swarming with police, and yellow crime scene tape flutters in the wind. Brighton, known for its bright beaches in the summer, is incredibly dreary in winter when the sun is hidden and the sea brings in cold wind and storms. John shivers and blinks hard against the headache that’s trying to take over his thoughts; they had been called out to Brighton at half five in the morning, after hardly any sleep the night before.

“There’s a storm coming in soon,” the sergeant says loudly as they walk across the beach. “We’re trying to document everything as best we can, but this will likely be the only time you can look at the crime scene intact.”

“That’s all I need,” Sherlock says.

The victim is lying facedown, limbs spread and hair fanned out. She’s dressed in a nightgown and barefoot. John wonders how long it will be until he can find some paracetamol. Or coffee. Coffee would be good.

“She was floating when we found her, but the tide has gone out,” the sergeant supplies.

“Obviously,” Sherlock says, hardly paying attention as he kneels by the body. 

Sand has already found its way into John’s shoes. He feels like utter shite, and quite frankly, would rather be anywhere else other than a beach, standing in front of a dead girl.

Then Sherlock begins to speak, deductions rolling off his tongue, and John’s annoyance fades into the background noise of waves crashing against the shore.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated!


End file.
